Four Lords
by vile-vixen
Summary: Things were just peachy before the world started going to hell in a hand basket - well, sort of. Sure is a dang inconvenience, though.     M for language.
1. Chapter 1

"Well, looks like yer main problem here is a faulty carburetor, either that or there's some kind of blockage… anyways, I'm gonna have to take it apart and see if it needs a clean or not if yew want this baby runnin' smooth by tomorrow." The young mechanic spoke in his Southern drawl, standing up and stretching his back with a few clicks. He wiped his nose, leaving a long streak of grease beneath his nostrils and grinned at his customer.

"_Tomorrow_? Listen, jackass, if all you need to do is to wipe down some goddamn carber-whatever then why the hell is it gonna take that long? I'm _paying_ you to get the job done today. I need my car _today_," The customer spat. His immaculate expensive-looking suit looked out of place in the rusty, grimy garage, and the mechanic in his grubby overalls let out a nervous laugh.

"Sir, we're meant ta be closin' in about fifteen and I really don't wanna be stayin' overtime with all –"

"So you wanna charge me for keeping my car here overnight too or something? You know what, give me my goddamn car back. I can clean the fucking engine myself."

"Sir, I know yer in a hurry and all but yer gon' find that a little hard without the specialist equipment and considerable knowledge on –"

"Considerable knowledge? _Considerable knowledge_? You know what I think of your fucking redneck knowledge?" The customer jabbed a finger into the mechanic's chest, lips drawn back into an angry sneer. The mechanic stepped back in shock, and squared up to his customer with a clenched jaw, cutting off his hail of insults.

"Now yew just listen here, buddy, by rights I don' even have ta be here what with the Green Flu and all - I could be takin' it easy with a cold one on my porch but I take this here job seriously, because it's what I do best. An' I can assure yew, mister, that I know a hell lot more 'bout _carburetors_ than yew do."

"Oh, well, _congratulations_! If you're so fucking good at this job, get it done today." The mechanic opened his mouth to retort to the customer's well-versed sarcasm, but was cut short as the customer ripped an orange flier with the letters CEDA written across it from the wall and shoved it into the younger man's grease smeared face. "If you haven't noticed already, the whole state has gone to hell with all these sick people, and _some_ people want to get out of this shit hole. Now, tell me this - no, honestly, I want to hear your _knowledgeable_ opinion on this, _how_ do you expect me to get home when the trains aren't running, the bus drivers are sick, and some FUCKING HICK won't do the job he's paid to do?"

"Alright." The mechanic took a deep breath. "Alright. I'mma have to ask yew to leave 'fore I do somethin' we both regret, _sir_." The mechanic stared into the cold green eyes of the suited man, and the customer looked at the grease-moustached face of the mechanic with vehemence.

"You know what – fuck you. I don't have time for this, and you _really_ don't want to be fucking with me." The suited man stepped away after a long pause, running his hands through his slicked back hair and checking his cell quickly, before glancing nervously at the entrance of the garage. "Keep the fucking money and _fuck you_. I have plenty of it now anyway." He yanked the door of his car open, climbed in, turned the ignition and proceeded to back up out of the garage with the bonnet wide open. The mechanic looked on, arms folded, as the customer angrily got out of the car again to slam the bonnet closed and turn away, only for it to bounce open again. The mechanic smirked.

Embarrassed, the suited man slammed it closed again, stormed back into his car and spluttered off down the road. "Asshat."

"Well fuck-you-very-much," the mechanic muttered under his breath, listening to the quiet country warbling of the radio as he pulled down the metal shutters of the garage and grabbing his keys.

That asshole suit wasn't gonna get very far.

It took the mechanic a very long time to get home that evening. He sat in his car, stereo blaring in the humid heat, drumming his dirty and calloused fingers on the steering wheel. It was when he turned out from the quiet narrow streets and got to the main road that he saw something… unusual.

"What the…" The first thought that crossed his mind was a mall sale, or a big concert in town, but he hadn't seen any billboards or posters for either of those things all week. The road was filled with beeping, honking cars with suitcases and plastic tarps strapped to the roofs for as far as the eye could see heading into town.

But shit, of course. How could he forget? People were leaving Savannah. The Green Flu pandemic had a lot of folks scared for their health – it had spread down to Georgia faster than you could say 'bile' and was the nastiest, grimiest flu recorded to date. The mechanic already knew of some friends and extended family heading down to Florida where the flu hadn't seeped into yet. He even had a couple of buddies that shipped themselves and their families to _Ireland _to wait until this whole shit storm blew over.  
>The mechanic couldn't blame them. At 23, he'd never seen his birthplace so fucked up. The streets were near empty, nobody turned up to work anymore – hell, he had been the only guy in the garage for nearly a fortnight now. Somehow, despite all the extremely contagious sickness surrounding him, he felt healthier than ever. That ratty customer was the only soul he had seen without the sniffles and dark circles under the eyes for four whole days, apart from his mom. Momma seemed just fine. The only problem was that it just wasn't as fun drinking a beer and fooling around at the pool table after work on his lonesome.<p>

Yeah, that had to be it. People were leaving town, but the mechanic would never have guessed that _this _many people would be packin' up and leaving. It looked like damn near half of this side of Savannah was trying to get away. Looked like it was gonna be another slow day at the garage tomorrow.

When he finally got home after taking a short cut around the high road, he noticed that his mom's van was gone. He fumbled with the keys in the keyhole and swung open the old, paint-peeling door into his house. "Momma? Is anyone home?" He kicked the dust off his shoes on the doormat and took his worn, fraying baseball cap off. "Dahlia? Dolly? Daisy?" He stuck his head around the doorframe that lead to the kitchen and grabbed an apple from the bowl on the counter, and bit into the flesh with a crunch. "Tucker? Come 'ere, old boy!" He listened for a moment, head cocked, waiting for a voice, footsteps down the stairs or the familiar click-clack of his dog's paws on the wooden floorboards. Nothing. He shrugged, grabbed a pen with his free hand and scrawled across some scrap paper that lay next to the radio and telephone.

_gone to O'malley's __with keith and I picked up  
>some milk for you it is in the frigerator.<br>Ellis_

He took another bite of his apple, picked up his keys again, and left the house without noticing the red blinking light of the answer phone next to his untidy note.

The flickering LED beer symbol on the front of O'Malley's Bar was a garish beacon in the descending dark. The mechanic pulled into a free parking space – there were an abundance of them, of course – and stepped out of his car, stretching his back. He slammed the door shut, threw his apple core into the bushes and adjusted his cap before nudging the bar door open. It was pretty empty.  
>"Yo, Joe!" The mechanic grinned, walking forward quickly to the bar and sliding a bar stool underneath him, resting his elbows on the scratched, worn wood of the counter. "How's it hanging, bro?"<p>

Joe, the bartender, was facing the wall, holding what seemed to be a bucket. His thinning hair scraped into a scraggly ponytail at the back of his head bobbed as his body stumbled forward slightly.

"Nothin' much then… Pretty dead in here tonight, huh? Tell me 'bout it, I only had one customer today at the garage and shit, was he an ass…" The mechanic raised his finger, stood up, and walked over to a filthy mirror on the wall above one of the plush booths near the wall. "Well shit, has my face been like this all day?" He grabbed the bottom of his yellow shirt and rubbed the grease stain on his upper lip vigorously. "Hey, Joe, you ain't seen Keith around today have yew? Said we'd meet up tonight, even if the other guys can't make it…" He swung back around to face the quiet bartender. "No…?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Hey, yew mind grabbin' me a beer? S'been a long day…"  
>Joe the Bartender let out a strained grunt.<br>"Hell," The mechanic chuckled, "What am I askin'. I always grab mah own beers now!" Behind the bar, Joe dropped his big blue bucket as the mechanic took a bottle from the cooler under the counter. Green goo oozed from the bucket into a thick, mucus-like pool at the bartender's feet. "Naw, I get it if you're not in the mood ta talk, what with yer Marie catchin' the flu an' all. Must be darn hard workin' here when yer gurl's in hospital… shucks, yew must be worried." The mechanic settled back onto his bar stool and took a sip of his beverage straight from the bottle. "Hope yew don' mind me sittin' here till Keith shows up. Anyway, here's to our health, right?" The mechanic lifted his bottle to the back of Joe's head, and took a hearty swig. "Hey, yer not still mad at us 'bout that goose we let into the bar last week are yew? 'Cause I'm tellin' yew, that shit was –"

Suddenly, green everywhere. Joe the Bartender proceeded to swing around and empty the sticky, volatile contents of his acidic stomach all over the counter, missing the mechanic by inches as he jumped back just in time, spilling beer all over the floor around him. "_Shit, _Joe, yew been drinkin' on the job again?"

"_Hnng..." _Joe the Bartender's bloodshot, dark circle lined eyes looked unseeingly into the face of the mechanic, teeth bared and smeared with lumpy bile.

"Holy SHIT!" The mechanic scrambled away, falling over on his stool in the process. He picked the stool up, just as Joe the Bartender climbed over the counter like a hungry reptile and soon the only thing separating the rabid bartender and the terrified mechanic was the wooden frame of the stool. "HELP!" The force of the bartender against the mechanic's chest was unnatural, and he didn't think he could stand the vile smelling saliva dripping into his face for much longer. "Alright Joe, I think you're a real nice guy an' all," The mechanic spluttered, "But if you don't snap outta this I swear I'll have ta do somethin' I don' wanna do to yew!" Joe let out an ear-piercing snarl and swiped his grimy hand at the mechanic's face. The mechanic screamed back, and shoved the stool to the side so that the bartender's back was now on the floor. Straddling the stool, the mechanic stood up and wedged the bartender's chest between the wooden legs of the stool. With animalistic fury, Joe jumped up and lunged towards the mechanic, only to be shuffled (with much effort) into the back room, separated from the bar with a sliding metal grating. The mechanic threw the stool along with his crazed friend with all his strength behind the metal grating, slid it closed and clamped down the padlock.

Joe the Bartender lunged back at the metal grating with a clang, hands outstretched and teeth gnashing. The mechanic stood bent, hands on his knees, breathing deeply. "Listen… I hope this doesn't mean I can't come here no more…" He took a step backwards, only to slip on Joe's slimy bile and trip over the blue bucket behind the bar, hitting his head on the counter on his way down.

Joe continued to bark and growl behind the shaking metal bars, as the mechanic lay as if in a deep sleep in a green bed of puke.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: This is my first time here, so be gentle with me. Things will get a little more exciting, I promise. Next time, we meet the high school teacher.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

"Sugar, the school's officially been closed." The high school health teacher shut the door to his house behind him. The ceiling was too low for his large frame, and he instinctively bowed his head down as he kicked off his shoes threw his keys into a bowl near the frosted window. He wiped his sweat-gleaned forehead with the back of his hand, walked into the living room and threw himself onto the plush sofa, head thrown back.

"Oh, hell," A stout, large breasted woman holding an eggplant and a knife with her hair in curlers plodded into the room from the kitchen to talk to her husband. "Now didn't I tell ya this would happen? I swear, the moment anything happens that the government can't afford to fix they shut down goddamn near everythin', so we simple folks gotta cover our own asses."

"Sugar, I don't think it's 'cause of that." The teacher rubbed his eyes with the heels of his large hands and began his search for the television remote, lifting pillows and checking under the sofa.

"This is some bullshit they pulling right here, how they expectin' us to pay our bills, pay our taxes and do the goddamn grocery shopping when they shuttin' down our jobs? No, you tell me that, mister. Actually, I'll tell you why – Mabel says they want more of our goddamn money to fix this goddamn state. We in a vulnerable position right now, right where they want us." She said, wide-eyed and knife pointed in the teacher's general direction.

The teacher turned to his wife. "Sugar, they're shuttin' down the schools because all the kids are gettin' sick. Everybody's gettin' sick. It's as simple as that. They'll open them once this all blows over. Don't believe everythin' Mabel says, she's senile an' you know that sugar."

"Yeah, that's what they want you to think." She muttered, shuffling back into the kitchen and a frantic chopping mingled with muffled curses could be heard as the teacher recovered the remote and switched the television set on.

"You know what I saw today?" The wife called from the kitchen, still chopping away. "I saw the Hansons packin' their car up with all their stuff. An' I was thinking, well, shit, I never knew they were moving, 'cause this didn't look like no vacation, I'm talking all their stuff. They were packin' portraits and all. Did you know they were moving, pumpkin?"

"They're evacuatin'."

"Huh! Evacuating. Believin' that this _summer cold's_ gonna kill them or somethin', like all those fools on the television."

"_Baby, _I'm tryin'a watch the news. "

"An' Mabel is _not _senile. She may be old be she has a wealth of knowledge that you wouldn't even understand."

The news channel flickered in front of the teacher's eyes, an attractive and concerned-looking reporter commentated on the scenes of rioting and violence that played on a virtual screen behind her. It was the city centre, packed with people – smashing windows, looting television sets, setting fires, beating each other with sticks – it was mayhem. Smoke billowed from garbage cans; women with arms around their children and on their mouths were pushed against walls, shielding themselves from broken bottles and shards of glass being hurled amongst the mob. Fleeting images of police with gasmasks and riot shields and guns trying to subdue the chaos in vain frequented the screen. A camera shot of a man from a window above the raging crowd throwing up a dark, toxic looking bile that landed on the people in the streets below.  
>"The streets in central Savannah are in absolute chaos - accounts of identical rioting and looting have been reported from across the entire country, and specialists are saying that the Green Flu pandemic –" The screen flickered, distorting the blonde reporter's face horribly for a brief second before returning back to normal. "–advice, we implore you to stay indoors, avoid contact with any sick –" Again, a fuzzy battle between white and black dots took over the screen.<p>

"_Goddammit_." The teacher knelt forward, wincing as he shifted the weight from his bad one, and hit the side of the out-dated set. The image flashed back on and he remained where he was, watching, brows knitted into a frown.

"Do you think _maybe _you could you turn that down?" the wife snapped from the kitchen

"HUSH, WOMAN."

The teacher couldn't hear what the reporter was saying from inside her protected riot van anymore, but it sure as hell wasn't any ordinary riot. This was society collapsing. This was _madness. _In all of the teacher's eventful forty-four years, _never _had he seen something so frightening in his own beloved hometown.

"Now, don't you dare talk to me like that. Do you know _how_ many –" The wife, back in the living room, stopped short with her jaw open, staring at the TV and then at her husband. "What's going on?"

"Savannah's going to shit, that's what's goin' on." The teacher rubbed his forehead as he got up and lifted the lace curtains to look at the sunny street outside, as if the riot may have pushed its way into their quiet suburban community.

"I don't want you watchin' this, sugar. They blow up all these _hippie _strikes out of proportion." The wife switched the set off and kissed her teeth.

"No. No. This isn't about politics, and that 'ain't no _strike_. It's this damn sickness. It's drivin' people insane – it's turnin' them into animals." The teacher spoke in a low, quiet tone. This was unusual for someone who usually projected his voice no matter what, and his wife picked up on this.

"Baby. Why don't ya forget 'bout this and come into the kitchen. I'm makin' your momma's chicken pie," The teacher stayed at the window and his wife chuckled, her bosom jiggling as she walked back into the kitchen. "I'll tell ya the only thing your momma and I have in common is that damn gorgeous pie!"

The wife's nattering was slowly tuned out of the teacher's hearing as his thoughts clouded with worry. He jumped as he heard a window shattering from somewhere across the street, and glanced over to the back of his wife through the kitchen door, the look of intense worry gradually being replaced with one of purpose.

He strode into the bedroom of the small bungalow and dragged two large suitcases from a cupboard tucked away near the ceiling. He unzipped them on the bed, and began tearing clothes from the wardrobe and hastily folding them into the bags and taking the pictures out of frames on the wall. He opened the wardrobe again, pushed the hangers aside and started clicking away at the safe built into the wall behind the clothes. It swung open, and inside there was a yellow padded envelope and two passports. He grabbed them and swung around only to come face to face with his wife.

"What you doin' in the safe? Why you holdin' our emergency money and passports? You gone crazy?" Her eyes were wide and questioning.

"This _is _an emergency, sugar. We're evacuatin'."

"Evactuatin'? Like the Hansons?"

"Yeah. Like the Hansons. Grab some clothes and stick 'em in the case."

"Oh hell…" The wife threw her head back and cackled. "You can't be serious!"

"You bet I'm serious. You saw the damn news!" The teacher stepped forward, motioning with the passports to the living room.

"Yeah, yeah, I saw it, but I 'ain't leaving." She snorted with laughter again, turning to leave. The teacher grabbed her arm, and pulled her back.

"Now you listen here. This is our chance to get outta here before things turn real ugly, which I have a strong feeling's gonna be soon. Things have been gettin' worse and worse, and we've been lucky. I don't want our luck to run out."

"Baby, I spend all my damn time in this here house, and I haven't let a single wind of this 'summer cold' inta here. I think we'll be _safest _if we get our asses into the kitchen and have somma that chicken pie I spent so long makin'."

"Woman, you honestly can't switch on that television or that radio and tell me that this 'ain't a serious problem? That this will blow over? The police can't do jack out there. The doctors and the scientists have _no idea _how to make this sickness go away. How can the goddamn fact that the city you were born in, the city we got married and had our children has gone to shit NOT faze you? You crazy?"

"What exactly do you think's gonna happen? That this _Green Flu_'s gon' walk right in here? Nuh-uh. This house is safe and has been safe for the past _fifteen years._ And no goddamn cold turns people into animals. You always have to be so dramatic when you think you ill. I'm stayin'."

_THUMP.  
>CRASH.<em>

A bloodcurdling shriek emitted from outside of the bedroom's French windows as Terrence the Neighbour crashed through the wooden fencing and slammed against the glass, banging his fist and kicking the frame. The network of veins in his forehead were a dark, black-red and protruded beneath his translucent grey skin, and the front of his white vest was covered in splotches of dark green stains. Both the teacher and his wife jumped back. "Oh god…" he muttered, feeling the blood leave his face.

"The hell, Terrence? What you doin' in our backyard? You better pay for that damn fence, hear?" The wife jabbed a finger at the glass. The teacher grabbed her by the waist and threw her on the bed, away from the neighbor.

"HE'S INFECTED. YOU STAY AWAY FROM HIM."

"Get offa me!" The woman wriggled away from his grasps, huffing and puffing, outraged. "What's gotten into you?"

"THIS STILL DOES NOT AFFECT YOU? Look at him. LOOK AT HIM. Does he look like a normal person to you?" The teacher screamed at his wife, now grabbing random articles of women's clothing from the drawers and putting them into the second suitcase. "WE. ARE. LEAVING." He slammed the bag shut. "NOW."

"Do NOT raise your voice at me, baby! Show some damn respect!"

The teacher clenched his jaw, and looked as if he was about to hit her, but quickly regained composure and placed his hands on his wife's shoulders, whispering shakily. "Sugar, I love ya, you know I do. But I am not leavin' you here and you gotta understand that. And if we don't leave soon, that man who used to be our goddamn annoying neighbor that let his dog shit all over our front lawn is going to break through that glass and we gonna be in trouble."

The wife stared at her husband for what felt like a long time as the neighbor continued with his banging and screaming against the glass window.

"What about the pie?"

"We'll take it with us."

"We… we're coming back though, right baby?" She lifted her lids and looked imploringly at the man she had loved for twenty-five long years.

"I'm sure we will."

By the time the crack appeared in the bottom corner of the glass from Terrence the Neighbor's incessant kicking and punching, the teacher and his wife were in their R.V. and driving down the sun-bronzed roads towards the city.  
>"Baby, you know where we goin'?" The wife looked up from her nails and outside at the increasing amount of families packing bags into cars as they zoomed along.<p>

"I didn't catch the evac point. They probably said on the radio or the news."

"Here, ask someone along these roads."

"Woman, you know I don't like askin' for directions."

"Jesus, baby, you do this every time… hold up. I'll do it." The teacher shook his head as he slowed down at his wife's frantic hand waving. She stuck her head out of the window and called out to a beefy looking man holding a bewildered toddler in his arms. "Excuse me? _Excuse me; _we're looking for the nearest evacuation point. Could you be so kind as to-"

"The Vannah hotel. It's been on the news and radio all day." The teacher looked at his wife with a look that mirrored the expressions _I-told-you-so. "_Signs are everywhere." The man bluntly responded, making no eye contact and opening the door to his car.

"Alright, alright, thank you so much, you take care now." The wife swung her head back into the car and motioned for the teacher to continue driving. "Shit, what was up his ass?"

"Half his family and friends are probably sick, missin' or dead. And now he has to move. That's probably it."

"_Dead_? Oh, goodness. You really are dramatic."

"The things I've seen so far, I wouldn't be surprised. _Lord_ help us." The teacher shook his head. The wife made a loud tut noise and continued picking at her nails.

By the time the couple got closer to the city, the sun had begun to set. The sounds of beeping cars became louder and more intense, and the traffic began to pile up till it was so congested they were barely moving. For an hour they sat in the car, stock still, watching the sun go down and noting more and more helicopters arriving and departing across the skyline.

"If there are riots in the city, then why would they hole a damn evac point right in the middle?" The wife looked at her husband, chewing on a hangnail on her little finger.

"I don't know, sugar. They got it sectored off or summin'." The teacher was growing impatient with the lack of progress they were making. The amount of people evacuating was immense, and soon it would be dark. Would they be safe enough? How many people in the hundreds of cars lined up in front of them were infected already? "_Shit." _He slammed the steering wheel with his fists, making his wife jump. "That's it. We're walkin'."

"Baby, I 'ain't walking. These shoes chafe my feet somethin' awful." The wife adamantly sat in the passenger seat as her husband got out of the car and onto the road.

"Then _why the hell _did you choose those shoes?" He kept walking, suitcase in each hand, leaving her no choice but to shuffle out of the vehicle and strut after him resentfully.

"When my feet start bleedin', you're carrying me. I don't even care if I 'ain't my high school weight no more."

They walked all the way to the front of the hotel, and were separated from the doors by hundreds of others, some of whom had also left their cars and walked. Standing on a cement block holding down a metal fence, the teacher could see that men in hazmat suits with the block letters CEDA printed on them holding clipboards were signalling people entering the hotel to large tents near the entrance. There was also an abundance of security. People looked scared, like something terrible was about to happen, like nobody trusted anyone.

"OH SHIT!" The wife screamed, hands flying to her mouth, drawing the attention of several bystanders in the crowd. The teacher hopped down from the block and immediately went to her.

"What, what happened? Are you feelin' alright?"

"I LEFT IT!"

"Left what?"

"My LOCKET! Grandmomma's LOCKET!" The wife shrieked, and the teacher tried to subdue her but to no avail. They were attracting quite a bit of attention by now, and they were nearly by the entrance.

"Jesus."

"I LEFT IT! I LEFT IT in the goddamn _cabinet_." She stared manically at the teacher, her plump lips wobbling. A child cried out in the crowd.

"Woman, keep your voice down."

"You know… you know I can't leave without it."

"You – what – you gotta be kidding me –"

"I am NOT leaving Savannah without my locket!" She burst into tears.

"Baby. You cannot be serious. It took us _five hours. Five HOURS _to get here," the teacher said through clenched teeth, glancing nervously at the decreasing line. "Forget the damn locket. You'll have it when we get back."

The wife shook her head incredulously at his words, nostrils flared frantically. "Do you… you understand what you're tellin' me to do? Are you tellin' me to leave behind the _only thing_ I have left of my family? The _ONLY THING?" _She clutched at her heart, leaving pale spots on her dark skin where her fingers pressed into her chest.

"What 'bout your sister? Or Uncle Manny?" The teacher hissed, frustrated.

"DON'T YA DARE BRING THEM UP AT A TIME LIKE THIS!" The wife screamed, louder than ever, finger jabbing into his chest, and the teacher threw his palm to his forehead. The line was nearly at the door, and after a couple more people were sent into the tent for a check up, they would be up. The teacher fleetingly noticed some people shuffling behind a boarded up wire fence after leaving the tent, whereas some people were sent straight into the hotel. Were people being separated? What happened to the people they thought were infected with the flu?

He'd been married for 25 years. He'd been young when he met her, and he wouldn't still be with her if he didn't still love her like he had when they married. He made a promise to himself that he'd do anything for her when he left her waiting at the altar for three hours because his best man was late and needed a ride. He never broke a promise. And he hated himself right now for that. He lay down the suitcases next to her feet.  
>"Jesus. <em>Jesus. <em>I cannot believe I am doing this. I _cannot believe that I am doing this._" He ran a hand down his face and looked at the growing crowd. A loud bang and a scream could be heard in the distance. "You – You get inside, get to the evac point, go wherever they tell you to go, but do NOT leave Savannah without me. Tell 'em you 'ain't travellin' without me. Understand?" The wife sniffled, hand still on chest, eyes wide. "_Understand?" _He grabbed her soft, chubby cheeks between his fingers and made eye contact. She nodded quickly.

He began wading back through the crowd towards the general direction of where they left their R.V., when he heard her call out to him. "I love you, baby!"

"Sugar, you owe me one hell of a meal after this." He called back, and mentally kicked himself all the way back to the car. "Lord, if I do _not_ get through those pearly gates after this I'ma seriously kick your ass."

By the time that the teacher got back to their home, it was night. Streetlights flickered. A figure walked aimlessly in the shadows, head darting in the direction of any movement. The entire neighbourhood echoed with the bloodcurdling screams of victims, the haunting snarls of the infected and manic sobbing of the living. There would be more than a few bumps in the night tonight.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Bearing in mind that I have never actually experienced a zombie apocalypse first hand, I have very little idea as to what an evacuating city is actually like. This shows in my writing. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed chapter two. If there are any glaringly obvious inaccuracies or grammatical mistakes, then please do let me know, it would make me feel a lot better. Next time, we meet the lowly associate producer.<p> 


End file.
